


promises

by Areiton



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Inspired by Real Events, Mentor/Protégé, POV Robert, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 02:28:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20369146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: He wasn't surprised when Tom showed up on his doorstep the morning before, a bag on his back and almost vibrating in place.





	promises

**Author's Note:**

> I was all up in my feels over the Disney Sony drama and Rom Howney insta pics and this happened.

"What do you think I should do?"

Robert looks at him, his eyes bright and smile soft. He wasn't surprised when Tom showed up on his doorstep the morning before, a bag on his back and almost vibrating in place. He's doing better now, after sleep and food and spending most of the day sprawled on the patio while the kids played around him. There's a quiet serenity around him that Robert adores. 

He reminds Robert of Indio, in a lot of ways. Bright and talented and so in love with the world it's like he doesn't believe anything bad could ever happen. 

Tom isn't stupid. He's been in the industry to know shit like this happens, that things go pear shaped, that there's not much to do but wait it out.

Which is precisely  _ why  _ he’s here, isn’t it. 

He remembers a day not unsimilar to this one, months ago. Tom, anxious and unsettled, drinking lemonade Sharon brought out and dodging why he was really sulking on Robert’s expensive patio furniture until he finally demanded, almost belligerent, “Why did you do it?”

He left furious, and avoided Robert for weeks, after that. 

Change is terrifying, he thinks, the same thing he told him then. 

He looks at Tom, and says, “What do you want to do?”

That earns him a huff and an eyeroll and he remembers, abruptly, how very young Tom is. He’s talented, so talented sometimes Robert can only stare, his own lines forgotten, until Tom drops Peter and flashes a grin that’s all Holland and sass, and he stumbles to find his own character, and then there are moments like this, when he’s petulant and beautiful and  _ young _ . 

“I  _ want _ to work with you in the MCU but we don’t get what we want, do we.” 

Robert doesn’t answer that. He just stares at Tom, steady and quiet, until he huffs and deflates. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, and Robert snorts. 

Stands up. “Come on,” he says, and Tom--Tom follows, not even bothering to question him. 

~*~ 

They fought--perhaps the wrong word. Tom shouted and sulked, for weeks, and then crawled into Robert’s bed, into his arms, all long limbs and childlike lost and desperate for affection. 

“I’ll miss you,” he whispered, and Robert had kissed his hair, his hands gentle and soft and careful, never drawing him closer, never tipping away from friendship into  _ more. _

Chris sat on the other side of Tom, rubbed his back, and the kid sniffled, and Robert felt his heart ache, a little. “I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart," he promised and he knew why Tom panicked, why he was afraid. 

Change was terrifying. 

“You’ll be  _ gone. _ People don’t keep in touch,” Tom said, petulant and ancient, too young and too old all at once. 

“Some do,” Robert said, and the thing was--he meant it. Walking away from Marvel, moving on with his career was one thing--but leaving Tom behind, leaving behind the family he’d found in the Marvel universe--he couldn’t imagine that. 

“I will. You know that--my door is always open,” he murmured, and Tom peered up at him, red-rimmed eyes and trembling lips, hope and hero worship and hunger that he carefully ignored. 

“Promise?” he asked, young, so goddamn young, and Robert drew him close and stared at Chris watching with big blue eyes shining sadness, “Yeah, sweetheart. I promise.” 

~*~ 

They hike, up into the hills, and Tom outpaces him, darts ahead and doubles back and he’s almost vibrating again, but it’s with happiness, now and Robert likes watching him like this, when he’s outside his own head, not preforming for anyone, not desperate for attention or worried about the future. 

When he is young and present and happy. 

_ “Enjoy it,” _ Christ had said, that tear-stained day, whispered in Tom’s ear while he huddled in Robert’s trailer. “Enjoy every second of the ride, kid.” 

He had. But he had so many years, still, and now--

“You’re thinking,” Tom says, coming to stand next to Robert next to a rocky outcropping. 

Robert shrugs, and says. “You aren’t.” 

Tom flushes and smiles, a little bit bashful. “Isn’t that the point?” 

Robert nods. Pauses a beat, considering, and then, “You’ll be ok. If this doesn’t shake out--you’ll be ok.” 

Tom blinks at him, and then, “You really think so?” 

Robert nods, and drags him close, presses a kiss to his temple, soft curls tickling his lips and he means it now, as much as he did when he held the kid crying in his arms and as much as he did the first time Tom stumbled over his lines on set and Robert steadied him. 

“Promise.” 

Tom’s smile is brilliant and beautiful and childlike in his pure belief. 


End file.
